The Heart's Choice
by fearwrites
Summary: Christine thought she had reached happiness with Raoul after the affair of the Opera Ghost. Everything falls back, and she realizes just what is missing from her life. She follows her heart, even after all that has happened. E/C, no Raoul bashing.
1. Together

Christine walked through the empty streets of Paris. She shivered as she pulled her cloak closer to her body, the cold air relentless. It was dark save for the moonlight that shone down from the night sky, and she was, at this moment, extremely thankful she knew her way clearly.

The path to the Opera Populaire, in which she had resided and worked at for many years, came to her naturally.

It was as she reached the scorched, ruined building that she looked around, suddenly self-conscious; thankfully, she was alone. And so Christine stepped into the structure that remained, treading as carefully as possible through some of the rubble. The opera house was, surprisingly, only engulfed in flames in its outermost part, or so she realized as she reached what used to be backstage. The place was, without a doubt, abandoned and, well, a mess. Everything was left scattered from the last performance, but she didn't have the chance to linger much. Christine walked to what had once been her dressing room, touching the plaque with her name on the door before entering.

The soprano breathed heavily, memories flooding back with ease as she looked at her possessions. Her eyes softened at the sight of a red scarf and the withered rose and black ribbon beside it. Christine put the scarf inside the small bag she carried with her, taking the rose into her hands for a moment before also putting it inside the bag. She approached her mirror, seeing her own reflection staring at her, and she pushed it with might, hands on the cold glass. It yielded, much to her surprise, and she stepped into the darkness that lied behind. The young primadonna walked through the hallway blindly. She jumped, a small screech leaving her as she felt something brush against her leg as it ran past. She started shaking in fear, her step picking up the pace. Christine reached the lake in a few minutes, just slightly out of breath. The poor girl was still shaking as she navigated through the water with the boat that had been left there, apparently unused. Her heart sunk as she saw the gate open, fearing the worst. She practically jumped off the boat as soon as it touched land, nearly losing her balance.

Everything was in disarray; the mirrors that had once leaned against the wall were shattered and the organ was covered with sheet music, looking utterly abandoned. She froze in her place, heart racing, as she felt a presence approaching her from behind. He spoke lowly, close behind her.

"What are you doing here, Christine? Have you come back to mock me, in my pitiful state?" The icy tone of his words sent a chill down her spine. The girl turned, slowly removing the hood of her cloak. The man most deemed a ghost looked nothing like what she remembered. His mask was on, but there was no wig in sight; his once impeccable attire was reduced to his trousers, shoes, and a white shirt. Clearly, he had not expected to meet anyone at that moment. He continued to speak as he circled her, face yielding no emotion. "Is it not dangerous for a Vicomte's betrothed to be out in the streets this late at night?"

"I have no betrothed," she shot back, her lips pressing to a firm line. Christine could see, out of the corner of her eye, his skeptical look.

"Really? Then the papers must be terribly wrong. Was it not three months ago that the boy announced you were to be married before the year's end? All the media has been in a frenzy, wondering how the future Vicomtess will look in her wedding dress, whether she will leave the stage for good-"

"Enough!" She turned to face him, boldly grabbing his white shirt and pushing him away in her anger, dropping her bag in the process. Her eyes softened quickly and her rage dissipated as she muttered an apology. "I have not come here to mock you. I wished to speak to you, and perhaps... ask you something."

"Speak, then. Whatever it is you may ask, whether I answer or not will be for me to decide." Christine breathed deeply, considering where to start. Something critical that had slipped her mind before suddenly came to her.

"What is your name?"

The Phantom's eyes widened slightly, and he was visibly uneasy. "I was not... christened when I was born," he said, looking down. Christine could not help her sadness for him. "The only real name I've known is one I adopted by accident, Erik."

"Erik... it's a beautiful name."

"Please, madame de Chagny, I don't wish for your pity." She sighed. "I am not a De Chagny. We were to be married next month." Christine saw the look on his face and his eyes. _Were?_ , they asked.

"It is no secret that I was engaged to Raoul. After what happened here in the Opera House, our relationship was strained to an extent. He could see that I still felt affection for you, even after everything that happened, though he tried to hide his discomfort for me. Everything began to fall back, yet not apart; what we thought was romantic love, we realized, was just deep trust and affection. We felt love, yes, but one siblings might feel for each other, not a couple. Raoul, eventually, fell deeply in love with a family friend, but did not break off our engagement for my sake, as he thought I was in love with him still.

Raoul and I chose to make each other happy, though his reputation will, most likely, suffer greatly. Both of us called off the engagement weeks ago but have kept it a secret from the public and remained close friends. Tomorrow, he will inform the media of our separation. I've come here because no matter how much I tried to stop it every time, my heart keeps choosing _you._ My mind chose Raoul because of the affection we shared and the security he could offer me, and it seemed right at the time, yet it did not work out because we were both hopelessly in love with other people. For once, I am acting on what is an almost childish whim. I've come here to ask if you would forgive me, perhaps let us have another chance. I want to be happy, with you." Christine stopped, big tears having escaped her and begun rolling down her cheeks as she looked down, closing her eyes. "I've hurt you deeply. I was the one that left you when you needed someone, but..." She trailed off, scared to look at her Angel. Christine heard the soft sound of water dripping, then the thud of something much heavier hitting the floor. Her eyes opened.

Erik was on his knees just across from her. Tears were trailing down his uncovered cheek and from beneath the mask onto the floor. She could see the deepest despair as he looked her in the eye. "Oh, Christine," he whispered. "How could you possibly want this hideous monster? I have killed, terrorized, abused of your innocence... all of my sins, the ways I've wronged you before. I deserve none of your tenderness, no matter how I wish I could change the past." Horrible sobs shook his body as he softly clutched her small hand in both of his own. "Please, find happiness with someone who deserves you, not a murderer. Forget my cursed existence, find peace with a rightful man, I'm a wanted _criminal_ , and you deserve so much more."

"Erik, please. I could try to leave you behind," she sobbed, her voice failing her as she choked up. "but my heart would be too heavy to get too far away. You could have killed Raoul and kept me captive, yet you did not. I saw your face, the way it turned from the look of a madman to one of understanding, of love, and you let me go. You were the angel who sang me to sleep when I cried for my father as a young girl, the one who left roses in my room to cheer me up after a hard rehearsal. Your past mistakes are nothing but scars to me. Scars don't bleed, don't hurt, but they're remains of what has wounded us before. They can be forgotten the same way they healed, with time. Please, my Angel, let me help you. Let me give you the affection you deserve. Let me fix your broken soul with my love."

Both of them cried freely as Christine dropped to her knees as well. She brought her free hand to his face, caressing it softly. He leaned into her tender touch. "I am yours, Christine, if you'll truly have me."

"Nothing would make me happier." And she unceremoniously launched herself in an embrace towards him, making them both fall over. She laughed, gazing at his genuine and bright smile. Slowly, she lifted her left hand towards the mask he wore, placing her fingers beneath it. He tried to pull away and turn his head, but the affection in her eyes defeated him. As Erik felt the mask leave his face, he closed his eyes and braced for her horrified scream. But it never came, and he opened his eyes.

There was no pity, no horror, no disgust in her look. Christine saw the face not even his own mother could bear to glimpse at with nothing but love and curiosity. She moved her hand, touching the scarred and sensitive flesh. The soprano then leaned closer and pressed a kiss to his deformed cheek, just below his eye and next to where part of his nose should have been. "Christine, I love you." The words burst out without thinking, and the girl could see his blush soon after. She didn't answer, as she wished to show him; with care she pulled both of them up so they were sitting close to each other. Then, placing her hands on his chest and behind his head, she kissed him with all the love she could muster.

They broke apart, and Erik rested his forehead against hers, closing his eyes. "My Christine, my Angel... I will redeem myself, for you. Every single day, for as long as you'll have me, I promise to fight, to be the man you deserve." In tears, she took his hand.

"And I promise to love you every step of the way."

 **A/N: SZ here. Thank you so much for reading! I would appreciate if you reviewed with your opinion, constructive criticism, or messaged me about any mistakes you find. Note that english is not my first language and this is unbeta'd. My muse for this AU has not died yet. Perhaps I could make this into a two-shot. Please review, favorite, or follow if you think I should add to this story, or if you enjoyed it. You can find me on tumblr as fearsmoke if you wish to follow or message me through there.**

 **Edit: Thanks to a wonderful reviewer, "His Christine Forever", I found out about the horrible text that the website added to my story for some reason. Thank you for your kind words and for bringing this to my attention. It was unreadable before! AGH!**


	2. Epilogue

Three months after their marriage, Christine became nearly bed-ridden by sickness. She had begun to throw up during the day, which she, at first, explained as being part of the cold she was recovering from. As a child, she mused, it had been normal for her to be frequently dizzy when sick and it would be just a few days before she was normal again. While reluctant, Erik agreed to her reasoning; then, after she complained of feeling faint and continued her nausea spells for days and days after her disease had passed, he grew concerned.

She begun to lose weight. It was difficult to notice, but with Erik's keen sight, he had realized her lack of appetite and inability to eat without vomiting all she had eaten later into the day had taken its toll on her. He made his wife sit in bed, against her stubborn wishes, and went to fetch a doctor.

Doctor Lebvier was a kind gentleman that lived near their home in the town nearest to London, where they had settled down to live in after deciding to leave Paris and the memories it held behind them. The doctor, one of the few people that did not look at Erik's mask with vulgarly curious eyes, was also a French immigrant, something that comforted them both.

"Monsieur Renaud, I'm afraid you must leave the room so I can conduct a full examination."

"Doctor Lebvier, with all due respect, I would like to be with my wife-"

"Erik. Darling, please," Christine cut him off. He sighed, before moving to her bedside and kissing her cheek, which was normally blush with life but now looked sickly and pale. He exit the room with no further comment.

* * *

"Monsieur Renaud, it pains me to say this, but I'm afraid my studies have failed me. I cannot name your wife's condition."

Erik put his face between his hands. As soon as the doctor had stepped out of the bedroom, closing the door behind him, he had lead him to the sitting room in waiting for an explanation.

"It is not..." Deadly, he meant to say. His insides turned and a chill crept through his body at the thought of a mortal condition, but Lebvier immediately shook his head.

"I believe, with the proper care, it should not be. Madame Renaud needs to drink fluids, especially water, and only eat light foods her body will not find hard to digest, as it seems she has lost weight," he reassured, leaning back on his seat. "I will be sure to write to my comrades who might be more experienced in this matter. Perhaps they may shed some light to this affliction I was unable to name."

Erik nodded. Standing up, they shook hands and, after being payed what he was due, the doctor left the house. The man, now alone, went to the kitchen and fetched a glass of water. He found his wife, still in their bed, in the midst of sitting up as she heard him enter. Rushing to Christine's side, he helped her up slowly and handed her the glass.

"You need to drink something, love. Take it slowly," he instructed, pressing a kiss to her head as he sat next to her. She gave him a weak smile.

"What did doctor Lebvier say?" She asked between sips.

"He was unable to name your condition, though he assured me that as long as you drink fluids and take soft foods as you can, there is no... life-threatening condition."

She nodded, glancing off, seemingly deep in thought. He looked at her questioningly.

"I have only heard of this kind of nausea in a very specific condition," she explained. "But never like this, so debilitating. I must be wrong."

"What is it, darling?" Dread poisoned every word. Christine looked at him and color came back to her cheeks as she blushed, the ghost of a pretty smile turning the corners of her lips.

"When a woman is with child, Erik."

Her words made him as pale as she was. A child, his thoughts screamed. Could a baby truly cause his wife so much discomfort? The doctor never mentioned a pregnancy, but then again, it seemed like Christine's condition was something he had never seen or treated before.

"Erik? You look as if you've seen a ghost, dear, talk to me." A soft, cold hand touching the uncovered side of his face snapped him out of his reverie. He gulped air abruptly and stood.

"I should probably make you some supper. Yes, you need to recover your strength," he stuttered, tucking his wife into bed like a young girl. "I'll come to check on you often, should you need anything."

He was out of the room before she could protest.

It was about two weeks later, not having touched the subject since, that Erik heard someone knock at their door. He stood from his place in the piano, which remained in the corner of the sitting room, and walked to answer the door as he put on his mask.

"Doctor Lebvier? Forgive me, but my wife is sleeping right now-"

"Monsieur Renaud, excuse my unexpected visit, but I believe I have the answer on what your wife's condition is." He seemed almost out of breath, like he'd ran through the streets to get here. Erik stepped aside, motioning for him come in, and lead him to a seat. He began to pace around the room, unable to control himself, as soon as the older man began to speak.

"As I mentioned I would, I wrote letters to three trusted acquaintances in an attempt to pinpoint Madame Renaud's illness as I described her unique case to them. A friend settled in London gave me the answer I find most accurate. If you'll forgive the intrusion, monsieur, when was the first time you and your wife were intimate?"

Erik's eyes went wide at the question. "About four months ago, when we were wed," he spoke. He's a doctor, he reminded himself; He wouldn't ask such a private question if there was no reason or point behind it.

"Monsieur Renaud, I believe your wife's condition is a rare form of pregnancy sickness. There is no clear physical sign of a child yet, but this is the most likely of scenarios. Congratulations, monsieur. Your wife should be about two or three months along."

He turned to look at the doctor, mismatched eyes wide. Lebvier stood from his seat. Walking towards Erik, he clapped a hand to the younger man's shoulder before turning away, deciding to leave him to process the announcement on his own.

"Wait, Doctor."

He turned to look at him again. Erik brought a hand to his mask. "There is something I must ask you. There was no... unfortunate accident which scarred my face; I was born with a deformity that covers half of my face. Could the child my Christine is carrying have such a deformity?"

Lebvier thought for a moment before answering. "I must see your birth deformity to be able to answer truthfully."

Erik closed his eyes, lowering his gaze. He removed the mask, then the wig he wore. He heard the doctor's steps as he approached him. A gentle hand touched the scarred and mauled flesh softly. When he opened his eyes, there was nothing but professional curiosity in the man's look. He stepped back when he was done, and Erik quickly turned and donned the mask once more.

"I believe, monsieur, based on what I have seen, that your deformity could have been caused by some form of genetic defect. I'm sorry to say I cannot eliminate the possibility of a child you father having the same or lesser scarring," he said, sadly. "I must take my leave now. I shall be back next week to assess your wife's health."

He refused the money offered to him. With one more bittersweet congratulations, he left the house. As soon as he shut the door behind himself, Erik collapsed into a chair, breathing heavily. His ever-so-clever wife had been right all along, he realized. He stood weakly and went to their bedroom. Christine was still asleep, and he kneeled on the floor next to her. Erik brushed a few curls out of her face and kissed her forehead lightly. She began to stir and her eyes fluttered open.

"What a nice way to wake up," she mumbled. He looked at her face adoringly, but there as something else in his look: raw emotion. Christine sat up slowly, having not overcome her usual nausea yet. She noticed, even as she stretched like a cat, that her husband's eyes followed every move. "Is something wrong?"

"Quite the contrary, my love," he said, sitting on the bed beside her. She laced their fingers together. "Doctor Lebvier came to visit while you slept. He finally knows what your condition is." His wife looked at him expectantly. He lead their joined hands to her stomach, his right one resting on her pale face.

"It seems my clever wife figured it out weeks ago."

There was a moment of silence. Then, a stunned gasp. "Erik!"

He nodded, offering a weak, sad smile in stark contrast of her wide grin and the tears running down her face.

"I'm carrying a child. Our baby," she cried joyfully. Christine frowned as she saw his lowered head, reaching to wipe her own tears away. "Darling? Are you not... happy?"

"Never in my life did I ever think of living as I am now, with a wife, a family of my own. Yet today I feel fear," he choked out. "I asked the doctor if our child could be born deformed like me. He said it may be possible to inherit. What am I to do, Christine? Our innocent baby, the one you carry, tainted by my curse." He began to sob and Christine's heart shattered. She pulled Erik next to her and gathered him into her arms, just like she did whenever a nightmare haunted him in his sleep.

"You will become sick with worry if you think like this. We will raise him or her with love and respect. Whatever their face looks like means nothing to me, as I will adore them as much as I adore you," she said. Erik closed his eyes, her soft touch comforting him greatly. He couldn't hold back a wince when he felt his mask and wig being removed. "Erik, look at me, please."

He looked up. She kissed his face and his fears disappeared, at least for the moment.

* * *

"Madame, take a deep breath. I need you to push soon," the midwife told her. Christine took a deep breath, but a scream was ripped from her throat at the pain of a contraction.

"I can't, I can't do this," she sobbed, her accented english barely understandable in her distress. Tears ran down her face, as she choked out a name over and over. "Erik..."

The midwife glanced at the nurse assisting her. "Bring Mr. Renaud in. Now!" She snapped, after being stared at in bewilderment after her first order. The young woman ran off, leaving the bedroom. She came back promptly with Erik at her heels, and he lost no time in kneeling beside the bed just like he did whenever she was sick. He took her hand.

"Darling, it's alright-"

He winced as she squeezed his hand forcefully as another wave of pain hit her, and she glared at him. Thus, Erik settled for whispering sweet nothings and taking some of the pain through his hand as his other one wiped the sweat from her face with a soft towel.

"Ma'am, you need to push as soon as the next contraction hits, do you understand?"

"Yes," she replied. Christine looked at Erik helplessly and switched back to french. "I'm frightened, Erik, what if something happens to our child?"

"Nonsense. Soon you'll be holding our baby, my love, forget your fears. You are stronger than this."

She screamed once more, and he felt the pressure in his hand as she began to push through the pain. She breathed heavily as the midwife praised her, and this repeated itself until a piercing wail filled the room.

"A boy!" The midwife cried as she held up the squirming child. Christine began to sob as the baby was placed on her chest, being cleaned by the two women assisting her; the cord was cut, and Christine's eyes were glued to the small child on her. The rest of the process went smoothly. The new family of three was left alone soon after making sure of the newborn's perfect health and instructing his mother on how to breastfeed. She was sitting upright, holding the swaddle of soft blankets, Erik sitting beside her. The boy had been born with a small tuft of brown hair like Christine's, but had yet to open his eyes.

"Oh, Erik, he's perfect," she sniffled, pressing a kiss to the boy's little nose. Her husband had not spoken a single word, but there were tears running down his face and beneath the mask. To him, it was true; their boy had been born with no trace of his cursed appearance. "Hold him, darling."

Before he could protest, she had passed him their baby, so small and fragile in his arms. Erik looked down at his son, his free hand coming up to touch the smaller one not covered by the blanket. The small fingers closed around his, and the baby slowly opened his eyes.

Two big blue eyes stared straight into his own. Erik's own widened in surprise; though his eyes were mismatched, he had only seen those blue eyes in the old portrait of his father he had seen many times in his childhood. Were it not for his deformity and his right, amber yellow eye, he would have looked just like his son's grandfather. Christine began to tear up again as her husband looked up at her in amazement and whispered, "He has my eyes, Christine!"

"Take off your mask, love. Let him see your face."

"But, Christine, will it not frighten him?"

"He has just been born, what could he know of fear? If you get him used to seeing you with and without the mask, he will think nothing of it," she coaxed. He sighed and raised a trembling hand to his face. He pulled off the mask, the wig with it. The child's bright eyes looked at him strangely, as he was scrunching his little nose. Erik prepared for his crying wails.

The smallest of sneezes broke the tense silence. Christine barked out a laugh at Erik's bewildered expression, staring at the boy like he'd grown a second head.

"What are we to name you, little one?" He cooed after a moment, silent tears streaming down his face again. Erik glanced up at his wife, a big smile on her face.

"Phillip Erik," she said. Erik looked at her in surprise.

"Erik?" He stuttered. "What about Gustave, after your father, like we agreed?"

"We can give Papa's name to our next son," she replied, blushing. "I rather liked the idea of giving him your name."

He looked at his son again. Phillip's eyes began to droop, and Erik found himself rocking him slowly. He was fast asleep when he passed the baby back to his wife, who took him into her arms easily and kissed his forehead softly.

"Yes," he replied after a minute. Christine looked at him hopefully, and he brought her free hand to his lips. "If it is what you want."

She smiled brightly before gazing at her son again. "I already want more," she joked.

"Slow down, my love," he laughed. "There is no rush. We have many more years ahead of us."

"Yes," she mused. "We do."

* * *

 **A/N: SZ here! As promised, this story has now evolved into a two-shot. E/C got the happily ever after they deserve :) On the subject of eyes and what Erik and Christine look like in this story, it is a mix of different PoTO adaptations. His right eye is yellow like in the Leroux novel, though he is, other than that, ALW!Erik. Christine is all ALW's version. My preferred E/C duo is Ramin and Sierra, and I will mostly picture the characters as such while combining my own headcanons with them, though you are free to imagine them however you want.**

 **Thank you so much for reading! A review would make my whole year. I wrote and published this on my phone, so please notify me of any mistakes you find. My writing tumblr is fearwrites, so come say hi! I'm working on something else E/C, but as of now, it is not even near finishing! Stay tuned. While I finish my first, full-blown fic (which I hope I do!) I may write some mini stories like 'The Heart's Choice.' Who knows what the future may bring? ;)**


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